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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098459">such selfish prayers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismaticvoid/pseuds/prismaticvoid'>prismaticvoid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Armor sex, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Character, Other, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Trans Male Character, inadvisable bondage, light fingering, mostly clothed sex, you can pry nonbinary fray from my cold dead hands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:08:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismaticvoid/pseuds/prismaticvoid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Here, with just the two of them, he can want whatever he likes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fray Myste/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>such selfish prayers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His arms are tightly bound behind his back, flat against the solid metal of Deathbringer. The sword, his own, is thrust solidly into the ground. His shirt is long gone, tossed away and leaving him exposed and shivering in the predawn chill. X'rhaya knows he can escape if he needs to, but a part of him desperately wants this, to be at their mercy. Or what passes for it, anyway.</p>
<p>Fray runs a finger down his jaw, its metal covering lightly scraping the skin. He doesn't know whether to cringe away or lean into the touch. They let out a dry, raspy chuckle and let their hand trail further down, tracing the taut tendons of his throat.</p>
<p>"Fight all you want. We both know you need this."</p>
<p>Their gauntleted hand feels like it's burning him as it traces a path slowly down his torso. His tail lashes back and forth and he tries to will it into stillness, but they notice anyway. Their visor is as impassive as always but he knows that behind it they're smiling, finding amusement in his attempts at self-restraint. He’s never been able to hide from them.</p>
<p>And their eyes. Their eyes <i>burn</i>, and it almost hurts to look at them, but he feels compelled. He is pinned in place as much by their gaze as by the greatsword to which he is bound. They flick lightly at his nipple and he hisses, so they grab it between two fingers and pinch, hard.</p>
<p>He can't contain the small, needy noise that works its way out of his throat. Fray, of course, hears it and twists.</p>
<p>"Such hard work, isn't it, being a hero. So *demanding*. They're all looking up to you, all the time, and you want to like it, but you never will. You can’t escape their admiration or their need. They will never stop asking for more, and you will never stop hating it.</p>
<p>"But I? I don't expect anything of you. You don't need to prove your strength. All you need to do here," they reach out with their other hand and bury it in his braid, yanking his head back against the hilt of the sword. "Is <i>give in</i>."</p>
<p>X'rhaya lets his eyes fall closed, breathing hard. The twin spots of pain on his chest and scalp give him something to focus on, enough to not lose himself in the swirling black depths of Fray's hunger.</p>
<p>He knows they’re waiting for a response. He straightens his spine as much as he can, looks them in the eyes, and nods.</p>
<p>They can't kiss, not quite, but their hands do the work of their mouth as they explore him. A thumb presses against the corner of his mouth, and he parts his lips just enough to allow them access. The metallic taste of their gauntlets should by rights disgust him, but he curls his tongue around their thumb and all he feels is <i>want</i>. They taste like sweat and blood and something not entirely living and it's intoxicating. They tip his chin up to face them with the rest of their fingers, thumb holding down his tongue, and he imagines there's an indulgent smile behind the visor.</p>
<p>They were right. It isn’t weak to want. Here, with just the two of them, he can want whatever he likes.</p>
<p>The thought makes him open his mouth a little wider, allowing them to replace the thumb with two fingers. The metal and leather slide across his tongue and he wishes more than anything that he could taste their skin but this, this is still enough.</p>
<p>The other hand has left his hair now, trailing again back down his torso and tracing the planes of muscle and bone it finds. Their touch is not gentle, but there is something reverent in it as they slowly rake their fingers across his skin. They know where to press in and where to skim lightly, from his pebbled nipples to the scars below them to the soft hair trailing from his belly button to the waistband of his pants. And when they tap inquisitively at the button there, he willingly surrenders.</p>
<p>They flick the closure open one-handed, a trick that would surprise him were it anyone else. But they do not pull his pants down, just open them enough to stroke him lightly through his smallclothes.</p>
<p>He hisses at the touch and strains against his bindings, but Fray is merciless. One hand in his mouth and the other between his legs, they have him trapped. He is sure they can feel his wetness and the swelling of his cock, and his face burns, but they show no sign of disgust or of wanting to stop. Instead, they press harder. They begin to rock their hand against him, insistent and deliberate. His sounds are muffled by the fingers in his mouth but he can't quite restrain them entirely. They laugh again and, impulsively, he bites down on the fingers holding down his tongue.</p>
<p>The fingers withdraw. "Looking to play a little rough, are we?"</p>
<p>Not trusting his voice, he bares his teeth and hisses, knowing they at least won't mock him.</p>
<p>The hand still lightly stroking between his legs moves to grip his waist, bruisingly tight. Their other hand, wet with his saliva, disappears down the front of his smallclothes. He knows immediately that they have no intent to show him mercy.</p>
<p>He doesn't have to tell them what to do. Their fingers stroke through his slick folds and up to his cock, and when they finally touch him without any cloth in the way it's like nothing he's felt before. They don't need instruction on how to tease his cock, they just rub maddening circles around it while he shudders and puts all his concentration into staying upright. Their grip on him prevents him from rocking his hips up into their touch (they're <i>strong</i>, as strong as he is) so all he can do is lash his tail back and forth and gradually put more and more of his body weight into their hands. They can support him, he knows that much.</p>
<p>He can tell he's close and so can Fray, and their rough touch shifts from teasing to direct. Their fingers, wet from his mouth and now from his cunt, focus on the head of his cock and stroke him faster and faster. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in quick, shallow pants. Their touch burns and aches and doesn't let up and he knows they're right he just has to let go-</p>
<p>His orgasm hits like a blow from the greatsword he's tied to, and he lets out a long, keening whine as Fray strokes him through it. When they're through with him, they withdraw their hand and refasten his (likely ruined) pants before making a quick gesture and muttering something under their breath.</p>
<p>A slash of darkness cuts through the ropes binding him to Deathbringer and he stumbles forward into their arms. Fray catches him before lowering him to the ground, their arms still around him. They're not gentle and neither is he, but no one has to see them as they are now and he feels secure enough to stay where he is.<br/>
He flicks his ears and looks up at them, heart swelling despite himself.</p>
<p>They look back, golden eyes striking in the light of the early morning. He won't tell them all the things he thinks, they'd probably laugh, but they know what he's thinking now.</p>
<p><i>Isn't it easier this way?</i> their eyes ask him.</p>
<p>Later he will put his mask back on, be the Warrior of Light again for all the people who need him. For now, though? Fray doesn’t need anything from him. He will remain as he is, and let his inner darkness reach out to hold him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>one of my biggest wishes is to one day not have to explain or justify my body to partners.<br/>thanks so much for reading! feel free to come bug me on twitter @prismatic_void if you want to see my art or hear me yell nonstop about catboys, Fray, and how the entire cast of FFXIV is trans.<br/>(title from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + The Machine)<br/>special shoutout to some lovely friends in the exarch discord for enabling me and coming up with this idea in the first place! please don't tie your partners to their swords, no matter how nicely they ask.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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